


Prairie's Wonderwall

by homerprairies



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Frenemies, being new to writing multichapters is fun, oa hates homer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-12-30 07:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homerprairies/pseuds/homerprairies
Summary: Even after all these years, all the ignoring, all the anger, all the staring, Homer Roberts still is the only successful person to ever get under Prairie Johnson's skin.ORPrairie Johnson and Homer Roberts are college students who've known each other their entire lives, yet they hate each other, or mainly, Prairie hates him, but as she gets closer to him, she realizes maybe he isn't as bad as she thought he was.





	1. Under Her Skin

It all started when they were just 8 years old.

Everyone thinks that maybe Prairie and Homer were together and he cheated on her, or that they were best friends who tragically drifted apart once Homer focused more on football, or whatever shitty well-thought conspiracy the nosy dickheads at Pershing College could put together just so she could talk, but only Prairie and Homer knew the reason why she absolutely hated him.

Of course, if you ask Homer, he’ll just mumble about “one of her little grudges that she loves to hold”, but she'll simply look you in the eye, tilt her head and say “It's none of your goddamn business.” The true reason is because before Prairie's sight was restored when she turned 14, he would purposely stand in front of her on the school playground so that she could walk into him.

She remembers the feeling, It's like hitting a pillow: A tall pillow that smells like apple juice and those graham crackers he used to love as a kid. She would run back to the doors of the cafeteria once the lunch bell rang, then she would run into this apple-juice and graham cracker-loving pillow. One time when he wasn't even purposely trying to prank her, she ran into him and tripped onto the slide, blood gushing down her face and onto her yellow sundress. That entire week, people called her “Carrie Prairie” It may have just been a cruel thing that kids do, but to this day, she can't let it go. So because of that, Rachel teases her about it.

“Why can't you just admit you like him?” Rachel is leaning back in a library chair as she begs for a love confession. "He's athletic, he plays football, he has those dreamy green eyes.” Prairie rolls her eyes as she listens to her best friend fantasize about the most overrated bastard she has ever met.

“ _Dreamy green eyes_?” Prairie taunts her. “Oh, fuck off. Maybe you’d be passing Chemistry if you weren't so worried about wanting to suck Homer's dick.” She could feel those offended dark brown eyes staring into her. 

 “Maybe you  _wouldn't_ be passing Chemistry if you took your head out of those tin-foil hat books you read and paid attention to the glorious body that walks past your face all the time.”

Prairie loved reading her sci-fi books. It was really all she had when she first lost her sight when she was 9. The movies she once loved just became a collage of beautiful, but also useless noises to her. She felt like she couldn’t understand a tv show when she could only hear whatever cheesy catchphrase the characters were saying and oh, how quickly her face went bright red like a fire hydrant once she heard the soft, yet guttural moans Rose made in Titanic when she watched it with Rachel and Scott in the 6th grade. That’s when she knew, sometimes feeling things is better than listening to them.

She was focused on the book laid in her hands, she ran her fingertips over the shiny cover, _Quantum Psychotic by Dr. Hunter Percy_. A book she started to fall in love with the beginning of the semester. Even months after, she still couldn't help but feel astonished by the profound mountain of theories that just stood inches away from her face. The entire work was circumstantial, but that word was not something she focused on. Her mind was desperate to become bigger and more flexible of what she believed in.

Prairie could hear the gasps and whispers and laughing of the other students, the noises that suffocated into the pool of her mind and as she begins to push her fingers under the cover to open it- “Holy shit, Prairie!” A massive, overjoyed smile forced its way onto Rachel’s face as she peered over Prairie's shoulder. Without even a second of hesitation, Prairie swings her head around until her long braid smacks her in the face.

That's when she sees him. _Homer_. Handshakes of his disciples melt through his hands, girls he winks at who give a grin as a response, and of course, Rachel not being able to take her eyes of him. He swaggers through the hallways, people think he's the shit and knows he is, everyone is in love with him except for _one person._ Her clear, blue eyes try to push hate through his chest but they fail to do so. She just angrily glares at him as he sways his head in her direction and then he stops, he jogs up to the two.

“Hi, Rachel.” Homer chuckled, his head nodding up at her. “Hey, Homer.” Rachel giggled back. Prairie's eyes were rolling so hard that she felt like they may drop out onto the floor. _God, Please, Please. Don't make me go into a cringe coma_. She begs in her head Homer takes his eyes off Rachel to look at her. He stares at her eyes, then looks her up and down before finally opening his mouth.

“Hi, Prairie.” He gives a amiable grin. She wants to say speak, but if she does, she might say something she'll absolutely regret. So, she just stares at him. She starts to look at the eyes to see what Rachel is so in love with. They're a brown-green color and luminous _. Okay, Maybe I'm started to see what Rachel was talking about._ Homer is starting to grin wider and as he can feel her eyes on his. Prairie's blue eyes are quiet and mysterious, yet powerful and furious, but Homer’s are relaxed, kind, caring, _clear_. Their wordless communication is interrupted by Rachel quickly elbowing Prairie in the stomach. “Prairie? Aren't you gonna say hello?” She questions.

Prairie's snaps back into reality and splashes a fake smile onto her face. “Hey, Homer.” She doesn't have to try hard to act genuine, the skill of deceiving was something she picked up after she realized that everyone thinking blind means weak was her new advantage.

“Well, I have to make my way to Sociology class. Meet you there, Prairie?” Homer provokes.

“You wish, Homeslice.” A nickname she called him in Kindergarten that Prairie is now using to make fun of him, even though she rarely uses it. He scoffs at that. Homer must’ve really took offense to that because he starts to walk away

“Bye, Rachel.” He waves at her.

“Bye, Homer!” She blurts out, brushing her hair behind her ears.

“Bye, _OA_!” He giggles. _Fuck_. He knows she hates that name, the name he gave her at the beginning of the second grade, a name he knows she has absolutely not forgotten about. Before she can even begin to snap at him, he is already gone.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! He fucking talked to us, Prairie! Did you see that?!” Rachel starts to shake and her cheeks begin to glow a bright red, but Prairie can't focus on her friend's euphoric meltdown right now.

Even after all these years, all the ignoring, all the anger, all the staring, Homer Roberts _still_ is the _only_ successful person to ever get under Prairie Johnson's skin.


	2. Saudade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Homer Roberts was someone who couldn't be described in just one sentence, but the way he felt about Mandy could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this in weeks, but I've decided to make this 2nd chapter not about Prairie and Homer, but flashbacks of Mandy and Homer. Enjoy 💗

Homer Roberts was someone who couldn't be described in just one short sentence.

 

At Pershing College, he was worshipped like a god. Maybe for some, it was because of how extraordinarily he could play football, moving gracefully like he was a ballerina and the game was his recital. Maybe for some, it was because of his intelligence. How he effortlessly got on the Honor Roll and was inevitably making his way to valedictorian. Even those who didn't know him and just wanted to fuck him found themselves getting trapped in the quicksand of infatuation. To everyone, he was perfect. Only one person thought he wasn't and another person made him feel like he wasn't.

 

Noise was something that was apart of his life. The cheering and shouts of football games, the constant moving of his overfilled house, the compliments and praise he received daily. So when Homer got to just sit in the library, nothing but his whispering mind as his only company, he immediately used the time when ever he got the chance to. A place only he knew about. It may have sounded silly, to spend your study hall in an abandoned music room but that was the only way to shut the world up.  

 

Mandy showed him the safe haven. She told him how the classroom became out of use once the school had to cut budgets for music classes and that's the reason why it's empty of students. Everyday, they spent their lunch together, now he just spends it by himself. _It's whatever._ Homer mumbles to himself. He doesn't wanna talk about the messy breakup: cheating, pregnancies and best friend betrayals carved into the skin of it.

*** 

_“Homer, please! I'm sorry. It just happened!" Mandy is gripping onto his hand, eyes pink and a face wet with nonstop tears. He snatches his hand back. He wants to open his mouth, scream at her, beg her to admit that she's joking, scream at her, start to cry, maybe forgive her. but he’s afraid the words will turn into broken glass. Tears threaten his eyes and his throat begins to throb._

_“It-It just h-happened?” His voice shakes. Homer wipes his face and tries to swallow down his sadness._

_“How does fucking your boyfriend’s best friend just fucking happen?! You tell me you love me over and over again, yet the truth is I think you love to have Zach's head between your legs!” His words finally come together and he screams at her, he screams so loud he feels like his voice is gonna break in half._

_“Homer. Please. I'm so fucking sorry. It was a mistake! I wasn't thinking straight, but now I know, I love YOU, Homer!"_

_He almost lets out a scuff before he takes in her face. Her eyes, cheeks, and lips a soft, powerful pink. She's been crying in the music room for the last 20 minutes once she confusedly watched the loud chatter in the hallways and the screaming everyone's phones made until she found out Homer almost broke Zach's arm._

_She's staring at him, sobbing and pleading.. Her apology is depressing, compelling, genuine. For a second, he tries to imagine what would happen, a world where he forgives her, a world where their relationship blossoms into marriage, a world where she means what she said, but he can't do it. He can't live like that knowing she did what she did._

_“I'm sorry, Mandy, but maybe you don't love me the way you think you do.” He walks away from her, not once turning around. He can hear her shouting his name in an attempt to reach out for him, but the door slams behind him._

 

Homer clenches his fist, blood rushing to his knuckles. The next week, He found out Mandy was pregnant with Zach’s baby. _3 months pregnant._ The anger returns, he finds himself desperate to walk to Mandy's door room, his blood already boiling hot and a powerful mission to scream at her glued to his brain, but instead, he just isolates himself off, until the thoughts leave his brain and he finally goes back to his old sociable self. She only had her baby just a few weeks ago and he pretends he doesn’t wish it was his.

 

          Homer still holds onto the hope of being a father, but pictures on instagram of a blue-eyed light skin baby destroy his faith. His fingers run down the phone and the caption slaps across his face. _October 24, 2018. Jason Arthur Bennett-Beidleman._ Nothing else mattered but that name, _Jason._ a name he always wanted to name his son. A secret he _only_ told Mandy.

 

The two of them watched _Jason and the Argonauts_ at his house one night. As the end title appears, Homer closes the laptop.

“Soooo.” He starts. “What did you think of the movie?”

Mandy’s mouth is open, eyes squinted in confusion.

 

“Huh, that was interesting. I thought Jason and Medea were gonna die in the end.” She scoffs.

 

“Well, It looked that way but they escaped with the other Argonauts, that's a happy ending, right?”

 

“Next time, can't we just watch Breakfast at Tiffany's or something? Greek Mythology makes me so angry sometimes, especially with all the incest.”

Homer lets out a pig-like snort, covering his bright red face.

 

“I’m sorry, Homer! but finding out Antigone was fucking her cousin made me gag so hard!”

 

“Okay, fine, fine. Guess you're not a Game of Thrones fan, huh?”

 

“Nah, more of a Walking Dead fan.” Mandy bends her fingers in like a dinosaur, opens her mouth, and yells like a zombie. Homer rolls his eyes and lets himself fall back onto the bed, looking up at the plain, white ceiling.

 

“You know if I have a kid, I think I'm gonna name it Jason, after this movie.”

 

“Really? Not Caesar or Hades or incestous baby result?” Mandy teases, positioning herself on the bed next to Homer. He laughs at her joke. It was true, His parents named him after Greek Mythology and they just have plain names like Margaret and James, so why not continue the trend?

 

“Yeah, I really want to.”

 

“Well, _Homer Roberts_.” Mandy briskly stands up off the bed and flips her hair over her shoulders.

 

“Wouldst thee giveth me the hon'r of naming our future issue, Jason?” She puts on a fake proper British-sounding accent. Homer grins and pokes his hand out to Mandy.

 

“T wouldst beest mine own pleasure, Misseth Beidleman”

 

Homer always told himself  he'd get over it, that it was in the past and that he needed to focus on his work and his football games, but he knew that was a lie. He sat in the middle of the music room. Tears were already streaming down his face, tears loaded with anger and sadness at the same time. Maybe Homer Roberts was someone who couldn't be described in just one sentence, but the way he felt about Mandy could be.

 


	3. Scintilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars have always been there for her, comforting her, surrounding her, smiling back at her.
> 
> OR
> 
> Prairie finally lets herself have fun with her friends at a college party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed this story from a high school au to a college au because i felt it was more fitting. Hopefully, I can write actual high school au's in the future, but right now, I won't. Besides that, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter 💗

     Prairie did not have an extroverted bone in her body, Rachel knew this and it absolutely annoyed her. When (or if, usually if.) Rachel successfully persuaded Prairie, she could drag her along to things like the movies or to go bowling with a small group of friends, but she knew better than to show up to whatever laudable, earsplitting party Pershing College students were hosting constantly. So when Rachel started to strut toward Prairie at her locker, a smirk on her face with her hair bouncing everywhere, Prairie opened her mouth and said “ _Absolutely not, Rachel."_

That's what's she said, that's what she _knows_ she said but with the break coming up and a favor she already owed her, Rachel added a point to her mental _Successfully get Prairie to leave the house_ tally chart and  _finally_ convinced her.

“Okay! Fine! I'll go.” She blurts out, already rueing her words. Now, she's gonna have to suffer for 3 hours quietly sipping juice in the corner and painfully watch something she doesn't feel apart of. _Just fucking great, Prairie. Just great._ She lays her face in her hands the moment Rachel skips away. All she can do at this point is look at the bright side. _Maybe I can try to have fun? Rachel will be happy, right?_ Her fingers claw through her hair and she holds the back of her neck, facing the floor and contemplating what to do. She steps outside her body and talks to herself  like she's another person, like she's her own guardian angel. _You can spend some time with Scott and Rachel and there'll be free food, so that's good too._

Prairie takes a deep breath, letting all the walls of stress and regret fall down. For Rachel's sake, she can at least _pretend_ to have fun. _Spring Break is almost here, You deserve to have some fun before Finals. Just do this one thing, Prairie. Everything is gonna be fine._ She reassures herself, pulling her scrunchie out of her hair and lifting her head up, but as soon as she does, she finds herself staring at those _clear green eyes_ that annoy the shit out of her.

Prairie immediately jumps out of shock. _What the fuck? Does he have a goddamn tracker on me. How did he find me?_ She feels like she's gonna faint, but instead, she falls back onto a empty classroom door, closing her eyes and pointing her head to the roof while groaning _._

“ _Ohhhh my goddd_!” Stretching her words out and feeling them vibrate in her throat, she rolls her eyes for the 150th time? The 1000th time? It's happened so much, she lost count. Her allergies to Homer Roberts include: _Impulse to roll eyes, fake smiles, and uncontrollable evil glaring._

“Relax, _OA._ I'm just here to ask you if you're going to Joaquin's birthday party tonight?”

“Well, _Homer,_ If you're not gonna be there, I'll happily show up!”

He snorts at that. _Why the fuck is he laughing? I'm being mean to him, the fuck?_ Homer runs his fingers through his hair and exposes a toothy, wide grin, almost exploding into laughter before controlling himself and starting to talk again.

“You’re hilarious, Prairie. I'm happy I'm gonna be able to hear those dumb, little jokes of yours again tonight, I missed them.” With that, he turns away, converging into a passing group of boys.

“ _Oh, fuck off, Homer.”_ She whispers to herself. Whatever, she's gonna have a fun time tonight for her friends and not even Homer _Fucking_ Roberts, luminary of the school, could ruin her fun.

The party was already booming when they got there, Prairie stepped in the door, tugging at her skirt a bit while scouring the room to see teenagers, _some who didn't even look like teenagers,_ huddled in the room. Some making out, some just casually talking in corners, some _atrociously_ dancing.

“Here, take this!” Scott walks up to Rachel and Prairie with two red cups, she drinks from the cup and immediately starts choking and coughing due to the powerful alcohol.

“What is in this? I think it just destroyed my brain cells!”

Scott laughs at that and grabs Rachel's free hand. “Come dance with me!” He shouts over the screaming rap music. She lets him guide her to the middle of the room and Prairie giggles at her friends’ _also_ _atrocious_ dance moves. Scott is obviously drunk and the two are writhed together, doing odd dance moves. Instead of joining, she moves through the house to find a familiar face. When she sees a tall woman with curly, short, dark brown hair, she immediately rushes over.

“Well huh, Rachel finally convinced you to have some fun?” Renata snickers while pointing the cup in Prairie's hand.

“If you call fun getting drunk and having to talk to people you are trying to avoid, then yes.” Prairie responds back while spinning her cup around so she can watch the brown liquid swirl. She barely notices August has dragged Renata away onto the dance floor because she's focused on her drink, dazed with her thoughts. Wondering which group of the party she should join.

_The “I rather be in the corner and have conversations” people, The people on the dance floor who move like that tall yellow thing that dances in the wind in front of car dealership, The “I’m gonna have a huge fucking hangover tomorrow” people._

Prairie chuckles to herself at the names she gives them. Maybe this is all the fun she needs, a terrible drink in her hand and entertaining herself with her stupid sense of humor. _But,_ as always, he's here. She knows he's here. She sees him approaching her out of the corner of her eye. Homer bothering her is inevitable.

“So, I see you made it to the party, Miss Johnson. I guess I'm too hard to resist?”

She lets out a loud snort. “Yep! I just had to come and see you, Homer! Oh, dear me, you _make my heart race_!” She jokingly admits, dramatically fanning herself and speaking in a light British accent like she's in some cheesy romantic movie.

“You’re an asshole, Prairie!” Homer shouts over all the noise, giving a half-smile. He looks down at her drink. Prairie Amelía Johnson drinking alcohol? _Impossible!_  Intrigued, he takes it from her to get a whiff, then starts to cough just like she did.

“There's no way in hell you're still alive after drinking this.”

“Well, you know what Scott says: the stronger the booze, the better the night.”

“Here, let me make you something else.” He walks behind the table cluttered with cups and bottles and starts to mix things into a new cup.

“Here, try it.” Homer says, holding the drink out for her. She hesitantly drinks the cup, but doesn't regret it. The drink tastes like strawberries, sweet and sugary.She benevolently smiles,letting the drink go down her throat.

“God, this tastes so good. Who knew Homer Roberts was a bartender?” He blushes and sheepishly smiles.

“Well, You're bringing out all my talents tonight, _Prair Bear_.”

Either she's _extremely_ drunk already or Homer is actually... _likeable_ tonight? Maybe that whiskey really was killing parts of her brain, making her not be able to think clearly. Homer Roberts is staring at her with those ~~_stupid_~~ clear green eyes again and she's too scared to admit that she likes when he does that.

“I should go, _Homeslice._ I don't wanna get too drunk if I'm gonna see you possibly drunk dance tonight.” Prairie sardonically jokes.

“Exactly! My moves are better than Michael Jackson and Jennifer Lopez combined!” She sneers at his words before blending into the crowd. She slowly moves to the music, letting the alcohol flood through her veins and take over her body, Prairie feels like she is having an out of body experience, she’s actually having... _fun_?

 _See, Prairie?_ She thinks to herself, but then the ceiling sinks in on her and everything becomes silent.

“Holy shit! Prairie Johnson?” She snaps out of her trance to see a tall, curly-haired boy with glasses next to her, wide-mouthed and surprised with her appearance. _Fuck!_

It's her ex. _Byron_. Byron, as in her ex who left a stab wound that she's trying to heal with bandaids, her ex who she was dying to date since she saw him stick a crayon up his nose in Kindergarden, as in her ex who broke her heart by telling her he's been fucking her _god-brother for over a year._ She scours the room again, this time in a desperate panic, looking for someone to pull her out of this unwanted reunion.

“Jesus christ, Prair! I haven’t seen you since July. How are you?”

"Oh, Byron! Hi!" Her tone seems effervescent and confident, but anyone can hear the way her voice wavers, even if they were deaf and blind, they'd smell the fear that oozes out of her pores and the way her heart beats rapidly. "I thought you went up to Sioux Falls? Y'know to be with your mom?"

"Oh, yeah. I did, but Joaquin's birthday, I drove down here with Michelle and my other friends. Literally, my ass hurts from sitting down 10 hours in a car." _Other friends,_  the word you use when you're implying you brought down the brother of your ex who you used to fuck. It's not like his other friends were guilty in the situation, but she didn't like them anyway. Marcus reeked of gatorade and a sliver of misogyny, the kind you get from being an incel on reddit. Patterson was condesending, always throwing sly, intelligent quips that made her feel stupid, plus, he said apple juice was better than orange, an opinion she could never respect and a grudge she would always hold. Michelle was innocent, they actually got along and when she found out about what Byron was doing behind her back, she was close to telling her the truth, but he got to Prairie first.

Lorenzo was the worst of them all, why? Not because he betrayed her, but because she knew him since she was a kid (just like everyone in her life) and he treated her like a sister. He knew her better than anyone else, fuck, he even knew her better than she _knew_ her damn self. He was the worst one in the group because he knew her weaknesses, he was the worst because she feared he would be able to make her vulnerable at any time, he was the worst because while she was knitting a sweater with his mom for his Christmas present, he was fucking her boyfriend. 

She can tell he is very desperate to talk to her, so she makes up some bullshit excuse.

“Uh, I’m fine, Byron. I should go, I think Rachel needs me.

She starts moving her feet to go in the opposite direction, but he takes hold of her wrist. “Wait.” He jumbles his apology before finally finding his words.

“I’m sorry about what happened between me and Lorenzo. I should've- I should've never been so impulsive.”

Their breakup doesn't hurt as much as it used to. There were always rumors that Byron was gay, but Prairie ignored them. _Just ignore them._ She comforted. _It’s not true, you know it's not true._ She tried the best she could to just ignore their breakup, his coming out, the way he writhed his body into a ball when he had told her the truth, but deep down, it still hurted her. How she had lost him, how he immediately started dating Lorenzo, like he didn't have to break her heart to do that, and what hurt the most was how he was blaming himself for all of this.

“It's fine, Byron.” She lies, nervously cracking her knuckles. “It's all in the past now. You go take care of yourself. I'll see you another time.”

Before he even speaks, she flees through the back door and leans up against the railing. Only a small group of kids are outside, making the stiflement of her sobs harder. Her throat throbs, she wants to cry, _god, she wants to cry so bad._ A table with a whiskey bottle is magnetic to her fingers and she takes a big swig. She swallows her sadness with her booze and lays down on a nearby bench where her eyes meet the stars. _Little Dipper, Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, The North Star._ Prairie runs the names of the constellations through her brain, whispering them and making them come alive. After however, She doesn't even know how long she's been outside, just that the whiskey bottle rattles with the wind and that her throat burns. Prairie has no idea what time it is, where her friends are, where Byron is, but besides knowing that she's _super drunk_ and _super tired,_ she knows she never wants to leave where she is. It's incredibly reckless for her to let herself be on a bench outside when she drank a whole damn bottle of booze, but It's the perfect spot to fall asleep at; surrounded by the protecting night sky.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Jesus, OA. Are you trying to unleash your third eye?”

Prairie ignores him, so he walks over to her and stands next to the bench.

“Rachel and Scott wanted to leave, so they told me to take you home.” Homer says.

From the corner of her eye, she can see he is confusely squinting her. He went outside to see her on a bench:  _very_ drunk, staring at the sky, and whispering to herself. So, of course, she looks insane to him. Homer breaks out of his quandary and slips his fingers into Prairie's hand.

“Come on, it's okay.” Prairie swings her legs over the bench, but as soon as she rises up, Homer slips his hands under her legs and onto her back to carry her.

“No, no, no you don't have to carry me.”

“OA, you're barely coherent, Rachel threatened me if I let anything happened to you, so please let me do this for you.”

She nods and Homer slips through the nearby alley way. He breathes in the aroma of whiskey on her and his nose twitches at that. When he makes it to the car, he rests her in the backseat and lays a blanket on top of her. The drive is slow and quiet, Prairie's mouth is unbelievably dry, but she still manages to say something.

“Why do you still call me that?” Prairie questions.

“Call you what?”

“OA, you still call me OA.”

“You don't remember the story?”

“I do, but I'm _wayyyy_ too drunk to really think.”

Homer chuckles “Well, Ms. Dimarzo's third grade play: Angelica the Angel. The play about the little girl who finds out she and her friends are angels?”

“Mhm.” Prairie smiles at the sweet memory. When her teacher gave everyone their wings, she got home and ran around her house, jumping and giggling. That day is also how she split open her forehead, practicing how to cane. She starts to giggle at how clumsy she was as a child. 3 months before that, Homer unintentionally gave her a nosebleed on the playground.

“After the accident, I was so sad about what happened to my dad, that play was the only thing that could make me feel happy again.”

“You got to play Angelica and Scott and Rachel played Tommy and Mia. I remember Ms. Dimarzo called you _The Original_ of the play because you were the first student who signed up for it. That's around the time I started called you OA”

“I don't even know how you remember that story, I don't even remember when I started calling you Homeslice.”

Prairie looks up at the stars again, thinking about how they always follow her, even in the day. _Little Dipper, Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, North Star._ The sky is black, but the stars are scintillas of lights in the abyss of the night sky. Flickers of hope and happiness.

“Hey, Prair? Do you-” Homer stutters, nervous of what she'll say. “Do you really hate me?” He turns around to see Prairie peacefully sleeping against the car door. She falls asleep thinking about the constellations, whispering their names the same way her dad whispered them for her before she slept. The stars have always been there for her, comforting her, surrounding her, _smiling back at her._


	4. Moonstruck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prairie Johnson is laying in the arms of Homer Roberts and he has never been happier.
> 
> OR 
> 
> Homer struggles to deal with a drunk Prairie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a somewhat short and suckish chapter, but i wanted to do homer taking care of a drunk oa, so here you guys go :)
> 
> song is bloodsport by raleigh ritchie

_ Nothing is perfect, but your imperfections are quaint _

_ And your love is worth it and for that I will wait _

_ And though you hate me when you have a turn _

_ I drive you crazy, but you always return _

_ If I fall short, if I break rank _

_ It's a bloodsport, but I understand _

_ I am all yours, I am unmanned _

_ I'm on all fours, willingly damned _

_ Loving you's a bloodsport _

 

He's terrified to ask her the question, he is terrified to know the truth but also terrified to not know the truth. He can always see how she feels with words, but sometimes her eyes stare at him like they're trying to send a secret message. Homer knows this is the  _ only  _ time he'll ever be able to get a answer. The glue of the words sticks to his throat, but with all his confidence he blurts it out.

 

“Hey, Prair. Do you-” He is scared for a moment, he stops his sentence before he makes a fool of himself, but he continues.

 

“Do you really hate me?” Homer is finally glad he got the words, but when he turns around after 5 seconds of silent anxiety-filled seconds, he sees Prairie, her face smushed up against the car door and softly snoring. It's ironic how he thinks she looks absolutely adorable. Homer falls back onto the seat and lets out a deep sign.  _ “ _ Goddamnit” He whispers under his breath. Prairie Johnson, the girl he who's hated him for 12 years because she won't let go off her grudge, the girl who once put mayonnaise in his chocolate milk for stealing her crayons, the girl who can  _ always  _ make him stupidly grin, is in the backseat of his car drunk and asleep. He smiles to himself, thinking of how far the two of them have come over the years.

 

The drive is like 20 minutes, but it feels incredibly short. “Okay, only like 15 more minutes to Pershing” Homer yawns. He reads the time on his car radio.  _ 2:17am.  _ Yeah, he is gonna sleep like a dog when he finally gets home. When he positions his hands to drive again, he catches a glimpse of the fuel tank and the little red arrow that’s pointing  _ nearly  _ at  _ E.  _

 

_ “ _ Fuck!” He knows there's no way in hell his car will barely even drive 5 minutes without stopping. So, he turns at a corner and parks in front of his apartment building in 3. He walks into the front door with Prairie in his arms. She wakes  up at the noise of the door slamming. 

 

“Woahhh! Where are we?” She shouts, echoing thru the lobby.

 

“Shhh, OA! Keep your voice down.” Homer crouches for a moment to hit the elevator button. “We're in my apartment building.” Prairie waits for the two of them to enter the doors and for them to slowly shut so she can respond.

 

“Does this mean I get to see Mandy?” Prairie giggles.

 

“What? Mandy and I broke up like 6 months ago”

 

“Oh fuck, ‘M sorry! Not to be mean or anything but she kinda looked like Doodlebob to me!” 

 

“Huh? What does that even mean?” Homer curiously asks. He unlocks his front door and lays the babbling girl on the couch. Slipping off his shoes and coat, he listens to her drunkenly explain Mandy's face.

 

“Well, like her eyes! One was bigger than the other, just like Doodlebob!” Prairie answers.

 

Homer stifles a laugh, he didn't really think about irregular eye shape until now. He almost bursts in laughter when he hears a door slam on the other side of the house.

 

“Jesus christ, Homer. It's nearly 2:30 in the fucking morning?” His cranky roommate responds, wiping his eyes and disappointedly standing in the living room. 

 

“Yeah, I know, I know, Mark. This is my friend, Prairie.”

 

Prairie turns up to look up Homer's roommate and puts out her hand to shake his.

 

“Hi! How are you?” She trumpeted in a effervescent tone.

 

“Uh... hi? I'm fine.” Mark replies, a bit creeped out at first at how excited she is at 2 o'clock in the morning until he realizes- 

_ Wait! Homer really brought a drunk friend to our apartment? Fucking hell, man. _ Mark throws a brisk eye roll to Homer before he turns around and slams his room door  _ shut. _

 

“Yeah, that's Mark. He is probably upset we woke him up.”

 

“Oh, shit really?” Prairie slurs. “SORRY, MARK!” She shouts at the top of her lungs. Homer lays his face in his hands, sheepish because he did not know Prairie was loud and giggly when she is drunk. Yep, he is definitely getting a lecture when he wakes up. Despite the scolding Mark will give him in the morning, he stops thinking about that to guide Prairie to his room.

 

Homer ushers Prairie to his bed and pulls back the blanket to let her inside. He doesn't know if she is the type of drunk to remember everything that happens, so he’s relieved that his bedroom is somewhat clean. 

 

“Here, let me get you some water.” He insisted while walking out the door. He grabs an Advil bottle from the bathroom cabinet and fills up a glass of water. When he returns to the room, his heart drops at the sight of her clothes on the floor. Her sweater, her skirt, fuck even her  _ bra.  _ His heart rises back up when he sees her standing up, wearing  _ his sweatpants and his t-shirt  _ and gazing at his wall. Homer places the bottle and the glass on the dresser and walks over to her.

 

“Woah, your room is so nice! I like your posters!” She gestures to his picture-filled wall and when she sees one she recognizes, her face lights up. “Oooo! I love Blade Runner.” Homer wants to respond to Prairie's fangirling, but then he remembers- 

 

“SHIT!” He loudly curses. “I need to text Rachel.” He slides his phone out of his coat pocket and starts typing a message. 

 

**2:27am: sorry. my car almost ran out of gas, so oa is gonna have to stay with me :/**

 

He nervously taps the back of his phone, hoping Rachel is awake and not already on her way to the police to dramatically file a missing person's report on Prairie, but finally she responds back.

 

**2:29am:** **_jfc smh, just make sure she returns home later in one piece or i will kill you._ **

 

**2:29am: will do, gn.**

 

Homer lets out a sigh of relief and turns to the bubbly Prairie. He places the glass of water in her hands which she doesn't even drink, she just absentmindedly watches the water swirl while giggling. He squints his eyes in confusion.  _ Are you high or drunk?   _ That’s what he wants to ask, but instead he suggests she just drink it. 

 

“Here, drink some. It'll make you feel better.” He holds the glass up to her lips and watches her slowly gulp it down. Homer looks over at the clock.  _ 2:33am.  _ Jesus christ, why is time moving so fast? If you told him yesterday night that his Spring break would start off with him nursing a drunk Prairie Johnson, he would definitely not believe you. This is the first time he's seen her drunk and so far she has done a shit load of things

 

 

  * __Wake up his roommate__


  * _Scream in his apartment at 2am_


  * _Look up at the sky and talk to herself like she was on crack_



 

_      and 4. Say his ex looks like Doodlebob _

 

Prairie Johnson, a book-lover, an introvert, and the quietest person ever was the loudest drunk ever. Suddenly, he gets scared of being near her and almost successfully makes a beeline for the living room couch before she innocently begs for him.

 

“Wait! Where are you going?” She questions. He turns around and disappointedly plods back to his room, he knows if he is near her for another second, she may something she doesn’t mean and he may believe her.  

 

**“** Uh, the couch? I was just gonna let you sleep in here by yourself.”

 

“Wait, please don't go. Come sleep with me.”

 

_ Come sleep with me.  _ He never imagined her saying those words to him, ever. Prairie hates him and now she is begging him to sleep in the same bed as her and yeah, he knows. He knows she would never ask him this if she was sober and if he even tried to get in the same bed as her, she pushed him on the ground. He knows Prairie is possibly gonna curse him out in the morning, but he does not need Mark to do it first. So, like the fool he is, he pulls up the covers and lays down next to her.

 

“Homer?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“M'cold.” In response, he tightly tucks the blankets under her person and reaches his arm over her to pull the lamp switch cord. They're laying there for a few seconds before Homer closes his eyes. He feels relaxed, but that quickly changes because only now he feels a head accompanied with strawberry-scented hair drop on this shoulder, the surprising touch jolting him awake.

 

“I'm sorry.” She apologizes at the fact that she scared him. “I'm just cold, can we please cuddle?” Homer absolutely does not know what to say, in fact, he is afraid to touch her, he's always been afraid to touch her. It’s probably impossible, but he's afraid the  _ real  _ Prairie will come back and break his neck. He’s afraid to touch her because she might realize what’s happening and run away, but it's too late to make choices because she ignores his silence by wrapping her arms around his waist and clutches against him.

Is it bad for him to enjoy it? He knows it is, to like the feeling of her small body in his arms, the light breaths that hit his chest, and her  _ soft _ blonde hair that has an everlasting sillage entering his nose. Homer’s thoughts are ironically screaming in the quiet bedroom, when she mumbles something into his chest.

 

“Hey, Homer?” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I don’t hate you.” Prairie admits, she says it so quietly, he momentarily thinks he imagined it or misheard it, but he didn't. She answered his question and relief washes over him. That night, Prairie Johnson lays in the arms of Homer Roberts and he has never been happier.

  
  



	5. The Night After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pushes the door open and there she is, in all her beauty waiting for him. Her face is pale, her hair's a mess, and her arms hugging his toilet, but she still couldn't be more adorable to him.
> 
>  
> 
> After a shocking scare is disproven, Homer and Prairie have a warm conversation over breakfast the night after the party in his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry i haven't updated in weeks, but now I have this extremely weird chapter for you to read, so enjoy 💗

Her eyes slowly flutter open and that's when the _pounding_ headache hits her. It weighs her head down and that’s also when she gets realization of her body's night-after feelings: her dry throat, her dry lips, her body being weighed down by a heavy, thick white blanket. The sunlight is blinding her and when she turns her head to the side, her lips nearly meet a pair of puffy, pink ones. Prairie moves her head back to see Homer's disheveled hair scattered over the pillows while he is in complete reposement. She is very confused and the stabbing pain in her head isn't helping. Her arms are weak and numb, but she ignores the feeling and shakes Homer's body to wake him.

 

“Homer? Homer, what happened? Where's Rachel?” He breathes in a quiet sigh of arousement and she watches his short eyelashes unstick from each other.

 

“OA?” He mumbles in a groggy, deep voice. “Why are you up so early? It's like 7, I think.”

 

 _Did he get drunk too?_ She thinks. Whatever, she doesn't have time to play doctor, what she’s wondering is how she somehow traveled overnight from the party to a bed next to Homer. _Wait a fucking minute._ No memory of what happened, headache from the hangover, waking up in his bed. She's praying that what she thinks happened did _absolutely not_ happen.

 

Desperate and horrified, she throws the blanket off her body and walks around the room to find her shoes.  _Where the fuck are my clothes?!_ She notices the long, duck-patterned sweatpants and the football tee staring back at her in the large vanity mirror. She puts her hand in her shirt to feel for her favorite lacey, pink bra, but all she feels is her warm skin.

 

“Homer, where are my-” While talking, she catches the glimpse of a familiar baby pink pattern on the floor. Homer is rubbing his eyes as she reaches down to grab for the strap. In her hands is her unzipped skirt and just below that is her wrinkled sweater and unclipped bra spread across the floor.

 

Her heart drops and her eyes go wide as she comes a daunting realization. _I, Prairie Johnson, got drunk and had sex with Homer Roberts._

 

There's so many emotions she feels, shock, confusion, denial, but mostly disgust. She lets her skirt drop to the floor the moment she claws her fingers through her hair. Is this what the night-after usually feels like? The regret, the realization, the headache? Or maybe, you're supposed to feel the accomplishment, the euphoria of the greatest sex you've ever had, but that's the opposite of what she feels. She must be the unlucky percent, the one that feels the regret of drunk sex, the aching of your limbs and sensitivity to sunlight, the thirst of water you're too lazy to get, and the lingering feeling to vom-

 

Homer pushes the covers off his legs at the sight of Prairie holding her stomach. She has her hand over her mouth and is shutting her eyes.

 

"Prairie?" She turns her body slightly at his question, but continues to bend her knees in a tired position. All she did was ask him some questions and now she is panting like she just ran a marathon. "Prairie, are you okay?" He raises his hand up to her shoulder, but immediately her body hisses at his touch and her legs sprint to the bathroom. Homer can hear her gag up her lungs seconds later.

 

 _Wow, it's the first day of spring break and Prairie Johnson is puking in my bathroom, what a great start!_  He picks up the tv remote in hopes of drowning out the sounds of the bathroom when his phone buzzes across his dresser.

 

**RACHEL**

**7:53am:** **_good morning, hows prair doing?_ **

 

**7:53am: shes currently in my bathroom, vomiting up her intestines into the toilet.**

 

 **7:54am** **_: jfc, do you want me to pick her up later?_ **

 

**7:54am: uh no its fine i wouldnt want you stressing out over finding your jeans in scott's room :)))**

 

 **7:55am:** **_scott's reading this convo over my shoulder rn and he said fuck off_ **

 

 **_7:56am:_ ** **haha im pretty sure you did that for him last night**

 

 **7:56am:** **_oh ha ha just make sure prair gets back to the dorm safely, you know what i'll do your kneecaps if she doesnt >:)_ **

 

**_7:58am: lol okay see you later then_ **

 

**_7:58am: byeee_ **

 

From his room, he can hear the loud coughing stop and the following flushing noise. When he heads to the door to wait for outside in the hall, crossed arms and hateful eyes meet him halfway there.

 

"How come everytime you bring a girl, she's either annoying or puking?"

 

"Okay, That's unfair! Kelsey only vomited 'cause you vomited when you were sick!"

 

"Regardless, she was annoying. Least this one is actually pretty." Mark wryly mumbles. Homer punches Mark on the shoulder.

 

"Shut up. Prairie's better than Elliot the Pretentious Mailman"

 

"Yeah, well all he did was put letters in mailboxes, so he really couldn't be as smart as he made himself seem like."

 

" _Homer?"_ He turns to the door when he hears her desperate whisper.

 

"Mark, can you please make some soup?  I don't want her to be sick in the car."

 

"Sure, but if she throws up on my floor, I'm gonna kick both you and her out." Mark half-jokes before heading for the kitchen cabinets.

 

"Homer, is that you?" He pushes the door open and there she is, in all her beauty waiting for him. Her face is pale, her hair's a mess, and her arms hugging his toilet, but ironically, she still couldn't be more adorable to him.

 

 **_"_** I'm here, Prair" Homer props her up on the edge of the bathtub, he leaves for a moment, then returns with a glass of water in his hands.

 

"Thank you" She gulps down. He observes her a moment, shaky fingers, throat bobbing from the torrent of water, and a white face desperate to puke again, but he doesn't ignore it and pays very close attention to all those things when he opens his mouth to speak to her.

 

"Mark, my roommate, if you even remember him, he's gonna make you some soup and maybe you can rest on the couch or something if you want."

 

"What _happened_ last night?" Prairie bites out in a wobbly tone.

 

"You got drunk at the party last night and I had to take you home."

 

"Then why aren't I home?"

 

"Because I'm forgetful as shit and my car ran out of gas."

 

She glares at him, eyes full of confusion, disgust and maybe a sliver of fear. "Did we-" Prairie stops her sentence before it even starts, swallowing her words in fear of confirmation or embarrassment of maybe her own foolishness.

 

"Did we what?" She says nothing, just traces her fingers across the marble of the bathtub, but her silence is ironically her words. Homer's cheeks mushroom into a bright red like he's a tomato and his words go cold. He was afraid she'd remember what happened last night and get mad that he let alone _breathed near her,_ but he never considered the fact that she might think that he'd even do _that_ with her.

 

"No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Homer sheepishly rambles, she is squinting her eyebrows at him in confusion as he tries to find the words, but all he can do is open his mouth and close it immediately.

 

"We didn't do... _that._ " He focuses on the last word.

 

"Then what _did_ we do?"

 

"No! We-" He realizes his oblivious mistake and quickly corrects himself. "We didn't do anything. I took you here after the party and we slept in my bedroom. Together"

 

Prairie's eyebrows jolt up and his nervous voice squeaks up again. "Well, together, but we didn't sleep together. I mean, we did sleep in the same bed, but we didn't have sex or anything."

 

She was bemused, but finally opened her mouth to respond. "Why didn't you sleep in the living room? Why'd you sleep in the bed with me?" She questioned.

 

"You asked me to stay with you, I didn't want to 'cause I'd know you'd have the reaction you do now, but I guess drunk you is very convincing."

 

"Yeah, well, guess I'll never be drinking again." She mutters, throwing up a weak half-smile. Homer doesn't know what to say, so instead, he changes the subject.

 

"Come on." He pushes his hand toward her. "Let's go to the kitchen, Mark the Chef is gonna make us breakfast." Homer says, giving a weak chuckle. He thinks she'll hesitate, but he can feel her cold fingers slide through his hands, and thus, he drags her to the kitchen where two meals are waiting for them.

 

**_***_ **

 

Prairie was sitting down at the kitchen table next to an awkward Homer, but she only feels him as a speck in the corner of her eye while she gulps down her liquid breakfast. The warm, comforting soup makes her forget about the god awful taste that was left in her mouth after her trip to the bathroom. When she holds the bowl up to her lips, Homer's face is unfortunately blocked but his voice is still free.

 

"Do you want the rest of my pancakes?" He questions, pushing his plate forward. Is it selfish of her to say yes knowing he obviously wants them? Of course, but she didn't even eat at the party last night (which she was really looking forward to doing), so free food blurs the line between selfishness and selflessness.

 

"I'm gonna be honest. Yes" Then seconds later, she begins to shove the entire meal in her mouth. Homer's somewhat sad face sits in the corner of her eye, so after a harsh swallow, she strikes up some small talk. "So, what do you plan to do over Spring Break?"

 

"Well," He starts. "I don't really know, I might go to my ma's house up near Osceola, maybe get out of St. Louis for a couple days."

 

"And after that?"

 

"Uh, me and Scott might go to a Tame Impala concert in Jefferson City with his friend, Jessie?"

 

"Okay, then after that?" He's clearly confused with her questions, mostly because he doesn't know what her motive is when she gets the answer to mediocre questions, but also because he has no plans for the break.  ~~ _like the loser he is._~~

 

"What do you mean _after that_?"

 

"I thought Homer Roberts, celebrity of Pershing, party-goer of the month, football star of the state, would be going somewhere interesting, like Miami or uh, LA, you know, where all the girls are at?" She denoted, taking a long sip of her orange juice after.

 

"Even legends gotta take a break sometimes." Homer grins. "If you're such a questioner, why don't you tell me what you're doing?"

 

"Just like you, I'm gonna visit my parents, but near Sedalia."

 

"And _after that?"_

 

"Helping a fundraiser in Jefferson City for the blind."

 

"That's amazing, but after that?"

 

Prairie can see his mockery of her, but he's not gonna psych her out this time, so she decides to pick at his skin a bit. "I'm gonna renovate my Homer Roberts shrine."  

 

"Hmph." He snorts. "Was the shrine bad before?"

 

"No, but it needs some redecorating." They both sarcastically nod at this. "Maybe some more ass pics on the top of it and…" She tries to stifle her laughter but it slowly pours out. "A bit more pubes in my pube-collecting jar." They both burst in exploding laughter, Homer's face blooms into a soft pink like a growing peony and his big cheeks are high like they're glued to his face.

 

"Really?!" Homer starts, choking on his own laughter. "More pubes for your pube-collecting jar?"

 

"Well, as your #1 fan, I have to collect your pubic hairs like they're awards. I was gonna collect your toenails, but that's so basic. Next, I'm gonna collect your earwax and make it in a candle."

 

"Huh." Homer gave a weak snort. "How did Byron lose the funniest girl in the world?" Her livid grin drops to the floor like a bottle when it becomes broken glass and he bites his lip in an attempt to stifle what is already said and floating in the air. "Fuck, OA. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I'm an asshole."

 

"No, it's fine, I mean you are an asshole, but Byron is-"

 

"The bigger one?" Homer finishes her words, but she shakes her head.

 

"I don't even know, I mean, he told me he was gay, but in order for him to even find that out, he had to cheat on me. It's not like I hate him, but he hurt me, so sometimes I feel like I wanna."

 

"Yeah, I kinda get that."

 

"Is it the same for you and Mandy?"

 

"I don't even know, sometimes I absolutely hate her, sometimes I feel like I wanna say sorry to her, but now I just never wanna see her again." Prairie gives a understanding, slow nod before Homer's eyes light up with a memory and he gets a lightbulb over his head. "Holy shit, OA. I know you probably don't remember, but last night you said Mandy's eyes were so uneven and far apart that she looked like Doodlebob."

 

"Yeah? I mean, I always kinda thought that, even when you were dating her. Like August and me had a joke about it."

 

"Jesus Christ!" The laughter returns, like firecrackers. Homer knows Mark is probably listening to loud music to tune out their bubbly conversation. "You and August really were making jokes about my ex girlfriend's eyes?!"

 

"Yeah, but now since you're not dating her, you and me can make the jokes now."

 

"I don't know about that, I think I'd have to see her again to examine if she really is a human Doodlebob and I really don't wanna see her again." He frowns.

 

"Maybe that's a good thing." Prairie suggests.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Well, instead of seeing a human Doodlebob everyday, you get to see the beauty that is Prairie Johnson." She shoves a pancake in her mouth then moves her hand in a circle to dramatically signal to her face while being ironic. He snorts at that.

 

"Yeah." Homer gives a warm smile and Prairie's puffy mouth gives one back at him. "I guess I do."

 


End file.
